


I'm not a Sound

by Clickclick (TotallyARealPerson)



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Found Family, M/M, Slow Burn, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-21 09:27:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30019677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TotallyARealPerson/pseuds/Clickclick
Summary: Adults were so weird. Why couldn't Dad and Mac just do the kissy thing and move in already?AKADating Murdoc is like dating a minefield. MacGyver's lucky to be a talented EOD specialist.
Relationships: Angus MacGyver/Murdoc (MacGyver TV 2016)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 32





	1. Fan + Microwave (Cassian)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Christmas Surprise](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17123264) by [desparikon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/desparikon/pseuds/desparikon). 



> I'm organizing the chapters depending on whose perspective it's going to be in. There's gonna be the chapter name, and then the person whose perspective it's in.
> 
> This is also the slowest of slow burns. Imagine a bundle of wet hay catching on fire without a spark or being lit - that's how slow this is gonna be. I'm trying really hard not to make the characters unrecognizably OOC, especially Murdoc, so please give me criticism when I inevitably fuck up.

Cassian padded downstairs in the quiet way his dad taught him. Mac was still asleep on the couch, Cassian could see the blond hair from on the top of the stairs. Everything looked just like last night, when he helped Mac with the tree. The tree had glowing white lights Mac made out of stringed lights, but the candy string was all clustered on one side of the tree, like he liked it, and Mac seemed to like it cause he laughed.

It was good that he'd stayed. Cassian liked Mac's company.

The stairs creaked a lot. They never shifted under Dad's weight, but Cassian could barely make it a few feet without a loud growl. Dad liked it that way, and he didn't know why, but it didn't really matter much because he was used to it.

Cassian's Dad was already awake when he got downstairs, entirely awake and all of his attention on Cassian. "Oh, hey, good morning bud."

"Good morning dad," said Cassian, leaning over the end of the couch to tilt his head at Mac. Now, Cassian didn't know much about teleportation (he's pretty sure Mac could tell him all about it in words he didn't understand and probably build it if he wanted), but he was sure things could only end up under other things if the thing on top were picked up and put on top of the thing on the bottom. So even if Dad did fall asleep on the couch, he should be on top of Mac, right? "Did you pick up Mac?"

Dad was a little slow in the mornings, so Cassian forgave the little pause. "Sorry, Cass, you're gonna have to phrase that question a bit differently."

Cassian rolled his eyes, but Dad never usually told him to do that if he'd said it right the first time. His meaning should've been obvious, though. Adults were so weird. "Why's Mac on top of you if you didn't pick him up?"

Dad gave a little 'ah' and started petting blond hair. "Well, Daddy was pretty tired last night, so Mac kindly decided to be my blanket."

Was there something wrong with the blankets down the hall in the closet or something? Cause the comforters always warmed him at night, and they were for sure big enough to cover all of Dad's bed that was big enough to fit four people. "That's a bit weird."

"Mac can make a remote-controlled helicopter out of a fan and a microwave. He's already weird."

That was a fair point.

Cassian crawled on the back of the couch. "What's for breakfast?"

"Stop denting my couch," Dad said in that funny serious voice he liked to use.

Cassian pouted and sat on the arm of the couch instead, by their feet. "What's for breakfast?" he asked again.

"Uh, I don't know. I'll make something after Mac wakes up."

Cassian swung his legs back and forth. "Is Mac staying for breakfast?"

"Well, we can ask him when he wakes up."

Cassian padded over to Mac and pried an eyelid open. "Are you awake?"

"No, I've been shot," he answered sleepily and hid his eyes in Dad's neck. "Hey, Riley, I shared some of that sandwich with you, right?"

Dad blinked. "Yes?"

"Cool," said Mac, and went back to sleep.

Cassian couldn't quite hide his laughter in his hands. Mac really did come awake after that - and again after Dad pushed him off the couch to land on the floor.

"Breakfast time!" Cassian cheered. "Are you staying for breakfast, Mac?"

"You really should, you know," Dad smiled. "We'd love your company and mourn your passing."

Mac got to his feet pretty quickly. "Yeah, I'll stay for breakfast. Unfortunately, everything I try to make turns to ash, so you're gonna have to do it yourself."

Dad pulled him into the kitchen anyway. "You're a chemist and you can't cook? Sounds ridiculous."

"Chemistry doesn't involve taste. And there are precise formulae. Cooking and baking, on the other hand, has nothing for how many eggs in a frying pan are too many eggs, and the recipes all-too-often don't include baking times or temperature limits."

"Again, ridiculous."

"Sorry, then, that you're not getting my cooking. I'm sure I could whip up something with a bit more of a bite, but it just might melt your intestines, so..."

Cassian laughed. "You two are weird."

"Thank you!" said Dad.

"Weird is in the job description," Mac shrugged.

Thankfully, Mac hadn't taken apart the toaster. He could at least manage that, along with cutting the fruit, while Cassian made the pancake mix and orange juice and Dad did the eggs and sausage.

"I'll admit I didn't think you could get tropical fruit this fresh this time of year," said Mac while he was for some reason cutting it up into shapes that weren't cubes.

"I got a special deal," Dad smiled like he always did.

"Mix is ready!" Cassian said cheerfully. "Here, Dad!"

"Don't shove things at people, Bean, it's rude."

"Sorry."

"Go start making the table, dear."

Cassian raced to the dining room table and started setting the table with the regular forks, knives, plates, and glasses. The fine china couldn't be put in the dishwasher, and washing it by hand made Dad's back hurt. As he worked, he heard his dad and Mac talking, soft and low.

Cassian will freely admit he REALLY didn't see it coming when Mac came out with a whole sculpture made out of watermelon and pineapple and something that looked like chocolate cream in a coconut shell along with everything else that looked just a bit different from last year, but it was a fun surprise.

They all ate quietly, but Cassian got a feeling like Dad and Mac were having a conversation without saying anything. They kept looking at each other and at Cassian and then the food, the living room and- what the heck was that weird eyebrow waggle?

"I need to check my phone for just a minute," said Mac, getting up from the table. He got around the wall before Cassian could chastise him for getting up without asking first, especially since his mouth was full of the chocolate cream from the coconut bowl.

Mac's phone call apparently couldn't wait until breakfast was finished, since he took the call in the next room. Cassian heard everything, how Mac was trying to calm the person on the other end of the line, how he was safe - and really, why wouldn't anyone be safe with Cassian and Dad to protect them? - and how he didn't need an intervention.

Cassian turned to his father. He always had the answers - if he didn't, he would always look. "Who's Jack, Dad?"

"Why do you ask, precious?"

"Because that's who called Mac."

Dad's eyes darted to the living room where Mac was firmly holding off his friend. "Cass, everything's fine. Jack is a very jealous man who wants Mac all to himself."

Cassian frowned. "He doesn't sound very nice."

"He isn't," Dad agreed. "Or, he isn't very nice with me."

That made him the worst ever, immediately, no take-backsies. Cassian looked back at the living room, where Mac was pacing in front of the glimmering christmas tree. There was a present under there for Mac too, from Cassian and Dad; apparently, he broke a lot of phones so Dad got him like fifty cheap spares - they were all different models, but they would all apparently work the same (and Cassian had no idea how that was meant to work since some of those models were even before SIM cards and from different companies altogether).

"Should we keep Mac away from Jack?"

"I don't think Mac would like that very much," Dad answered. "We have to let Mac make his own decisions about what he does. Drink your juice."

Cassian took a gulp of juice. "That's stupid," he continued. "He's making a bad decision. Who the heck calls on christmas to see if you're safe? Of course he's safe. That's a stupid question."

Dad hummed. "I know," he said, and took a bite of toast. "It's one of those things you figure out as you get older - people are stupid by nature, and Mac isn't an exception."

Right. Like with the eggs.

"And anyway, I think Jack would just come get Mac back with a team of police and put me in jail, so we'd be better off without him anyway."

Cassian put down his fork. "That doesn't make me feel any better." The more he heard about Mac's _Jack_ , the more he didn't like the figure without a face.

Dad tilted his head. "Well, how about this, then? Mac can take care of himself, and anywhere he fails I'll be there to pick up his slack."

"That's better."

Mac stuck his head back into the dining room. "Sorry, but I think I have to go."

"Can we come with you?" Cassian asked. "We'll keep you safe."

Mac smiled. "That's very nice of you to offer, Cass, but I don't think my boss would like that too much."

"Angus," said his Dad, sharp and demanding and almost like a threat.

Mac looked very suddenly over at Dad, and all over again they were having a silent conversation. It ended with his Dad's shoulders uncoiling, and then leading Mac back to his funny tree with a hand on his back. "Before you leave, you should open your present. You'll find it useful."

"I wrapped it!" Cassian said cheerfully, racing back to the living room so he could see Mac's expression when it was opened.

It was a simple lidded box with a nice bow, but it contained as many phones as Cassian could fit.

"They should all work," Dad added. "Most of them were from people who were highly motivated to give them up."

Mac looked over at Dad. "Murdoc-"

Dad waggled his eyebrows. "You'll find them useful, I'm sure."

Mac put the lid back on and looked down at Cassian. "Hey, Cass, did you wrap my present with gloves on?"

"Yeah. Dad told me to, he said it was a game, and he thought it might be a nice joke to wrap them all in plastic bags too, but I thought a box would be more pretty, so we compromised and all the phones are in plastic bags and the box. Is it important for the phones or something?"

Mac looked really, really happy. Like, happier than Cassian had ever seen him before.

Dad looked happier too now. "Has anyone ever told you how radiant you are when you smile?"

Mac's smile turned funny - and not the funny-haha, either, but the funny-weird. "Thank you for this."

"Weeell, I didn't have any use for them. Might as well let the other side of the world's immune system take care of those cancer cells."

Mac got his coat back on and tied up his boots. "I have to go to work. Matty's gonna like this. I mean, not at first, but she'll really like it in say five days."

"What happens in five days?"

Mac grabbed his box and headed for the front hallway. "Ask your dad."

Cassian looked at Dad.

Dad shrugged, a smile spreading across his face. "Well, his phones never really last more than five days at a time. Matty's the person who keeps buying phones for him, so it's always a good thing when she doesn't have to."

"Oh. Cool. Why couldn't he tell me that himself?"

"I speak your language better."

Now, that made sense. Mac used a lot of big words he took for granted other people always understood, and then never explained those words in a way he could actually understand. It didn't seem like he could actually help himself from using complicated words like he always did, so Cassian didn't think he was doing it to be mean, but Dad had a lot more control of what came out of his mouth.

"When's he coming back next?"

"I don't know, dearest. I'll ask him next time I see him."

"Alright. I'm looking forward to it. He's really smart and fun."

Dad's nose scrunched up. "Cassian, he doesn't even know how to boil eggs without burning the water."

"Sure, but he made that whole watermelon thing. And he's smart - he should be able to figure out cooking if you teach him."

Dad hummed. "With my luck, he'd probably end up turning my skillets into a radio dish."

Cassian didn't really have an argument for that. Dad really did have a point, after all, even though Mac was the most awesome of awesome, buying new skillets every time he came over would be too much trouble.

"... Though, he is interesting. Maybe I can convince him to come over for New Year's."

Cassian smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

"You're welcome, Bean. We should finish our breakfast."

(They ended up not finishing their breakfast. They'd made way too much food, like always because Dad was weird like that.)

~?~

Mac ended up coming for New Year's. The pie he brought was nice. He must not have made it himself.

"Mac!" Cassian shouted, overjoyed, throwing his arms around Mac's waist. "How did you like the phones? Did your Matty like them?"

Mac smiled, bright and cheerful, and returned the hug. "I love the phones, and so does Matty. You did a lovely job wrapping them, Cassian."

Halfway through the night, when it was only ten thirty and he was still between his Dad and Mac, watching a movie. As he was drifting off, he felt Dad moving very slowly and he heard the volume lower. Cassian didn't hear much of Dad and Mac's next conversation since they weren't speaking over the characters in the movie, but he did notice in the back of his brain, barely a thought, how their voices melded together to make something like a soft lullaby.

Dad always sounded cheerful anyway, but the cheer in his voice was always warm and bright when he was talking with Mac. It was nice that he was here, instead of somewhere else where Dad might not be as happy without him.

The next morning, Mac was gone, but he did leave a note (taped to two chocolate bars) explaining he had to go to work, and then a weird math thing. Only Mac would use that for a signature.

He was so weird.

Dad was in the kitchen, whistling and making coffee.

Cassian huddled back under the blue fuzzy blanket that usually stayed around the top of the couch. There wasn't any harm in five more minutes before getting up. There wasn't any school today.

So there.


	2. Under the Christmas Tree (MacGyver)

If he were being honest, MacGyver knew very well the shitshow he was walking into when he came to the Phoenix with a gift-wrapped box of fifty phones.

That didn't mean he didn't feel bad about calling everyone away from their families and celebrations on Christmas day to examine each of the phones, and another call to the war room.

He'd already been home, examining each of them for bombs without disturbing whatever physical evidence may be there. It would be just like Murdoc to give them a false lead on purpose and methodically pull the strings in his favour in a fashion only he knew the endgame to - taking a page from The Ghost's book wasn't a bad idea, after all, and he'd already seen how assassins and thieves liked to gossip from that field trip saving Cassian. There was, shockingly, nothing he could find in a physical sense. No bombs, at least, which is why he'd called Riley to check for viruses that might upload themselves to the servers, and there was none of that either.

"Whoa," she'd called instead. "Mac, this box is full of phones from major drug lords, snitches, high-profile traitors, other high-profile assholes."

Damn. Now he owed Murdoc a favour. Never a good thing.

"Where did you get this from, exactly?" Matty asked.

In answer, Mac held up the little paperclip charm he'd made while waiting for Riley to check out the phones. "Under the Christmas tree."

Most of the contact information was under aliases, but they managed to get a ridiculous amount of evidence to clean out five major cartels, six traitors to the government, and a clown. They'd also gotten dozens of leads on suspects and plenty of arrests had been made. It was the sort of info dump no one agency kept to themselves - keeping their cover as a think tank, they'd managed to send word to the alphabet agencies that they'd gotten this haul, and the others grabbed any info they could to support their own evidence. Even the outdated things led to arrests, like old abandoned warehouse deeds being carelessly left in old cabins, or id artists who made fantastic passports who kept evidence against their clients for insurance.

Some of them, Murdoc had even sent with fingerprint IDs that unlocked the phones, the correct passwords on the outdated secure ones, and there were a few more phone numbers and email addresses.

The whole next few days were a rush of getting the criminals arrested before word could spread that criminals high up the food chain were being arrested and imprisoned. Mac, once again going through a field of flames avoiding gunfire, had to wonder why Phoenix didn't have more than one elite team on par with the usual squad. Conceptually, he was aware that he'd gone through childhood learning how to make improvisation an art, but that didn't mean he was the only EOD tech who knew how to make bombs out of nail polish remover and tin foil.

Once he'd gotten home on December thirtieth, he'd crashed hard. He barely had the presence of mind to get his boots off before sleeping the next eighteen hours.

And the opportunity to repay that favour was a sticky note on his forehead when he woke up, feet tangled in his blankets.

_Hi there, Sleeping Beauty!  
Come home for New Year Eve's, why doncha? Cassian would love to see you and I'll bet you have questions._

Mac sighed and reluctantly got out of bed. There were five messages on his phone, none of them from an unknown number. Instead, four were from the team's group chat - Matty was giving them all a week off for their work, barring any miscellaneous impending apocalypse, Riley said she would die for Matty, Bozer continued with 'mood', and Jack said he'd be in Texas if anyone needed him. In his personal contacts, Jack told him not to get himself killed while he was gone.

Mac answered the group chat with a smiling emoticon, answered Jack with a thumbs-up emoji, and went through his contacts again for Bozer.

"I need a favour."

"Mac, it's so early."

"It's noon."

"So **E A R L Y**."

"I need a favour, Boze."

There was a soft sigh on the other end of the line. "Yeah, Mac?"

"Can I have a pie? It's for a friend, they invited me to celebrate New Year's with them."

"Yeah, alright. Any allergies or religious restrictions on the food?"

"Not to my knowledge on the allergies. And I think he and his son are atheists."

"Please find out. I do NOT need to be the cause of anyone's anaphylaxis."

Mac put his phone between his ear and his shoulder, looking up Murdoc and Cassian's respective files. No allergies, no religions. (Though it was entirely possible Murdoc was lying. Just in case, he also got a good toblerone and a bag of peanuts.) He relayed this information to Bozer and got the pie the next day at noon a few hours before he planned on going over.

"Thanks, Boze, I owe you one."

"Just bring back my pie dish _completely unaltered_ and we'll call it even."

~?~

MacGyver waited til Cassian was at least halfway asleep and Murdoc lowered the volume on the TV until asking his questions. "I have questions. Will you answer them?"

Murdoc's attention was on the movie, watching the film incarnation of Santa activate his personalized Einstein-Rosen bridge. "Ooh. This might even be interesting. Lay em on me, Boy Scout."

"Why all the phones? They could've been useful to you later - why turn all that information over to us?"

Murdoc rolled his eyes. "I've been collecting that leverage since I was nineteen, m'kay? They're not the only copies, just in case your precious Phoenix doesn't follow through. And I've memorized a lot of it. But they're also the ones who keep threatening me into killing innocent red blood cells. They have their own assassins for that, so the only reason they need me is because I'm better or they want to torture me. Either way, it's boring and my brain craves better excitement."

"Then," he murmured, "the dirtier the blood the more you crave it."

"Much like you and yours. I wasn't kidding when I said we have the same job. Mine just involves less locks and more targets locks."

"I suppose killing is easier when it's a criminal. I wouldn't really know."

Murdoc shook his head. "Nope. Killing innocents is too easy. Criminals are far craftier. The ones who hide in plain sight are ridiculous, but it is far more satisfying."

"You realize you could be killing an innocent person if you're hired to do it."

"I don't make those mistakes. There are aspects about yourself that are impossible to hide. Signatures, voice, even external features can be altered - footprints and eyes can't be altered so easily."

MacGyver hummed. "I guess that's true."

"You guess?" Murdoc answered, incredulous even in the lowered volume. "Angus, individuality is nothing more than a thousand common elements combined in an orderly fashion. I'm not the only assassin who finds a moral imperative in killing, nor are you the only secret agent with family only among their coworkers. But there are parts of myself I don't change after finding a target, and there are parts of you that you don't change when you're acting for a job."

Mac hummed, soft and slow. "Yeah, okay, that's true."

They sat in silence a while longer as the movie timed out and Cassian drifted further to sleep, curled against his father's side for warmth, and it struck him again how oddly domestic Murdoc seemed without all his weapons and leather.

"Oh, hey," said Mac again. "Uh, you never told me why you picked 'Murdoc' as a name?"

Murdoc shrugged. "Well, no real reason. I could be any one of a dozen names I've chosen for myself. ID artists are good about the kind of names you pick. My very first name didn't sound right, so I picked a new one. But really, whatever name I go by doesn't matter because names are just strings of sound. 'Murdoc' just happens to be a particularly pleasing string of sounds to my ear."

Mac blinked a few times. "Is it bad that what you said made perfect sense to me?"

"No," said Murdoc. "See, you're the same way. Anyone meeting you based on paperwork would call you 'Angus', yet you introduce yourself as MacGyver to strangers because you like it better."

"Hmm."

He was about to continue, until his phone chimed.

"Sorry, that's my work life," Mac groaned. "Imprisoning cancer cells knows no time zone."

"Yeah, I know how that goes. Don't get run over."

"What, because you're the only one allowed to kill me?"

"So glad we agree. Write a note to Cassian so he knows your departure was unavoidable and come back within a week."

Mac hummed and, shockingly, started to do just that. He even left his chocolate bars.

"See ya."

"Mm." Murdoc turned on the sequel to the movie just as Mac left.


End file.
